


More Relief Among Leaders

by Ayngelcat



Series: Combaticon/non team shenanigans [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Sticky Sex, mechfluids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:21:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1289272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still having little luck in interfacing with his team, Onslaught calls up Scrapper. </p><p>Sequel to "Relief Among Leaders" - though reading that not an essential prerequisite.</p><p>*Warnings* for aggressive sticky mechsex and dubcon. Well - sort of!</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Relief Among Leaders

Onslaught paced restlessly. He’d tried with his team, he really had. But attempts to introduce the subject of ‘team interfacing’ had continued to be anything but a success.

Remembering what Scrapper had said about the ‘most difficult first,’ Onslaught had begun with Blast Off. But the shuttle had merely given him a long, hard stare; then he had gotten up and left. Vortex had gone with him.

And Onslaught had told Scrapper he’d thought Vortex would be ‘easy?’ A wry grin on the copter’s faceplates suggested that he was not - after all - short of interface opportunities. Brawl had simply shrugged, and gone too; and that was that.

That had been two days ago. The only one who’d stuck around was Swindle. He _had_ been easier; in fact, the small yellow jeep had given Onslaught something not dissimilar to what Scrapper had put out – even if it didn’t have quite the same level of _finesse._

But the little aft had demanded he be paid for it! And when Onslaught had - in no uncertain terms - refused, he’d flounced off in a huff. Primus only knew where he was now.

Onslaught’s hands balled into fists. He was no good at this gestalt thing, darn it! Now he couldn‘t even get his team to stick around, let alone frag him. Even the loyalty program – which he’d sought to invoke in the hope it would bring them back – was useless unless Megatron wanted them to do something.

And their leader was currently “on vacation” with Soundwave. He’d left Starscream in charge – and apart from the fact that he and his trine had gotten their tails kicked in some unauthorized skirmish, the jet couldn’t care less.

Irritated, Onslaught activated his com, calling up instead the private frequency Scrapper had given him.

………

Scrapper grabbed the edge of the large desk in his office that he was currently flung over. He held on tight, opening his legs wider as Hook thrust deeper into him.

The clanging of armour filled the air as ozone and diesel wafted thickly around. Scrapper pushed his aft up, most happy at the afternoon’s ‘entertainment.’ He leaned into the feel of the perfectly fitting spike sliding in and out, striking rhythmically at his very well activated ceiling node. Meanwhile Hook’s hands gripped him with reassuring firmness as their shimmering energy fields lapped and sparked in synchrony.

“This is good Scrapper…” Hook’s voice was thick, laced with static. There was no doubt how much he meant that. “Oh yeah - this _is_ good… it - is - _really_ \- good…"

He slowed, thrusts penetrating more deeply, moaning as a shudder went through his frame. There was nothing better, thought the Constructicon leader, than getting done by his second in command when he’d been busy in the medbay fixing Seekers. Scrapper had much to thank the flyers for when it came to Hook’s enthusiasm.

And there was nothing quite like team sex. Like the smooth, efficient system it was, the gestalt protocol ricocheted pleasurable sensations of union and rightness through Scrapper’s core.

It wasn’t going to last much longer, however. “Oh Primus I can’t hang on…” Hook was thrusting hard again, his hands digging into Scrappers aft. His cranehook clanked against Scrapper’s side and Scrapper reached back and grabbed it, crushing it as Hook cried out and energy crackled between them.

Scrapper let go of his hitherto held back control. Absorbing himself in sensation, he allowed his charge to billow up, as they raced to overload like rivals who decide to tiebreak at the finish line. Then Hook went over, yelling out loudly as he released and hot fluid spilled into Scrapper.

Scrapper was not far behind him. Cries from the almost painful climax mingled with those of his team-mate. They became murmurs of deep satisfaction, blending with the grauch of soft-sliding metal as the spasms of overload quickly overwhelmed them both.

Hook collapsed on Scrapper, chuckling delightedly and kissing his back. A hand reached down and found one of Scrapper’s and they locked fingers, remaining like that, Scrapper enjoying the feel of the crane spread across him, of Hook’s spike still in his gently clenching valve. As fluid washed around, Scrapper relished the mutual affection they both still felt, even after all this time.

They’d been enjoying that for a good few clicks when Scrapper’s com went off. “Scrapper? I was wondering of you were - available?” A terse voice said.

Despite his satiation, Scrapper was most happy to hear that voice. “Hey!” he said. “Always happy to be of service!”

It was perhaps as well that Hook had drifted offline.

………

“I wondered if you might give me a little more assistance along the lines of what we – er - discussed previously,” Onslaught said stiffly.

Scrapper’s husky tone was already causing his interface relays to tingle in anticipation. Darn it – how did the Constructicon manage to have that effect even when Onslaught couldn’t see him?

“Why sure! I was wondering when you were gonna come and spike me. Come on over.” Even though Onslaught had been half expecting such a response, it sent a shudder of lust through his systems. “Er - your security code?” he stammered.

“Oh don’t worry! Mixmaster’s in charge of that today and he’ll be too out of it to notice visitors, so just come straight in to our base. My office is third door on the left.”

“Well I’ll – er – see you in a few clicks then.”

“Yep – look forward to it.”

 

A pouting Scavenger showed Onslaught to Scrapper’s office. “He’s been busy,” the excavator said, not looking happy. “I was supposed to be spending some time with him – but I _know_ he’ll be pleased to see _you_.”

“Yes, thank you - I hope so…” Onslaught squirmed inwardly. And he was annoyed; darn it, that little upstart knew about before – knew something, anyway. It was also infuriatingly different from his own team - who didn’t even want to make appointments to spend time with him.

Onslaught stole a glance at the Constructicon as he minced off down the corridor. His shovel tail swayed form side to side in time with his hips. They were cute. _Sexy._ Yes - almost as sexy as Scrapper’s voice…

Darn it, now he was even getting ideas about Scrapper’s team!

Resolutely, the Combaticon leader pushed open the door and strode in.

 

Having wriggled out from under his team mate, Scrapper had just finished pulling Hook properly on to the desk as the door opened. The crane’s intakes sighed peacefully. He would, Scrapper knew, be offline probably for most of the rest of the day – the usual result of a combination of three nights online, intense Seeker surgery and a good hard frag.

“Hello!” Scrapper said cheerily to Onslaught, enjoying very much the sight of the big military mech with the unmasked, rugged good looks. The buzzing, frustrated energy field that was perceivable even from here was even more delightful – despite the astonished look on the Combaticon leader’s faceplates.

“Oh don’t worry about him!” Scrapper gestured to Hook. “He won’t bother us. I’m just going to have a quick washdown. If you’d rather wait outside, I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

Before Onslaught could reply, he ducked into the personal washrack that attached to the office. He did after all have rather a lot of Hook’s fluids on him; and whilst that would not have worried his team members, Scrapper didn’t really think Onslaught would appreciate it.

 _Excellent._ Scrapper thought as he let the hot water play into his seams in such a way as to nicely set his own charge climbing again. Hook might be clapped out for the day, but Scrapper certainly wasn’t; and whilst he’d been intending to continue the day’s enjoyment with Scavenger, Onslaught’s arrival was an unexpected bonus.

Why, the sight of those broad shoulders and the heavy chest armour, the huge thighs and bulging codpiece were already re-lubricating Scrapper valve with remarkable effectiveness. Especially as Scrapper imagined the enormous well crafted spike with the smooth head that was just underneath the codpiece.

Scavenger would be disappointed, of course. But he could always go and find Swindle who, Scrapper had been pleased to see, had shown a great interest in the excavator – in a way that had already boosted nicely reserves in the Constructicon coffers.

Yes – at some stage Scrapper must remember to tell Onslaught how much he approved of that.

 

Feeling annoyingly conspicuous and wishing now he’d worn his mask, Onslaught hovered outside the door to the Constructicon base. Would he rather wait outside? Of course he darned well would! Anything was better than the suddenly stifling confines of that office and the sight of that crane!

And the worst of it? Not that Hook didn’t even like Onslaught. Not that he wasn’t even _polite,_ even at medical checkups – as though he, too, knew very well what had happened and didn’t like it at all. No – it was that seeing the lanky yet somehow sensuous frame spread across the desk with chain and hook dangling down against his unquestionably handsome face, had been _damnably_ sexy.

As if the sight of Scrapper’s well built body and own extraordinary good looking, unmasked face had not been enough! Combined with the then thought of Scrapper washing himself and the idea of he and Hook doing what they’d obviously just been doing, the effect had been…

Heat erupted through Onslaught. Darn it, I’m a Combaticon! He thought. A military model. This obsession with Construction models would simply not do. No – it would _not do at all!_

Onslaught looked through the palm trees towards the entrance to the Combaticon base. His team – yes – he must get his team back and work on them. A little relief from Scrapper, perhaps some more advice -  and then he’d get right back on with the business…

The door opened and the Constructicon leader emerged, all shiny green panels and easy manner. He looked, as before, as though nothing in the universe could possibly disturb his equilibrium. “Thanks for waiting!’ he said cheerily.

Even with his mask back on, the mech’s attractiveness sent another lustful surge through Onslaught. How did he manage to look so - fresh? Especially after…

Yes, well, Onslaught would refrain from thinking about _that._ It was quite enough that whatever Scrapper had used to wash himself with - or douse himself with afterwards - was already doing embarrassing things to Onslaught’s interface equipment. Hell - he was sure Scrapper could feel the heat coming off him from here!

And confined within his codpiece, Onslaught’s spike was pressurizing with painful speed. It didn’t help that Scrapper looked straight _at_ that part of his anatomy. The glowing crimson optics sparkled, then rose to meet Onslaught’s.

“So - probably better we don’t shag in the base – we’ll have Scavenger wanting to watch…” he grinned, “unless you’d like him to join us too?”

“No! I er…” _well not this time,_ Onslaught nearly said out loud, insufferably embarrassed by his seemingly uncontrollable spike, which had nearly burst out altogether at the thought of those swaying hips and that tail.

“Where then?” he snapped. Our base?” At least there’d be one advantage to his team not even being there.

Scrapper cocked one hip in an appallingly sexy way. “I was kinda wondering if you liked fucking outdoors?” he squinted at Onslaught. “I love it. If we walk along the beach a little way, then there’s this cave with a ledge in it that’s just right for…”

“That sounds fine,” Onslaught snapped. If they waited any longer he’d be grabbing the Constructicon leader and fragging or fucking or shagging – or whatever other darned thing you cared to call it - right here against the door.

……….

A short while later, they walked along the beach, the Constructicon leader strolling casually, relishing the salty air and sand under his pedes as little waves crashed on the shore next to them. Ah how he loved that Megatron had given his gestalts these pleasant abodes on the island. And what a perfect day this was turning out to be!

With the agitation and telltale stiff walk of the military mech beside him, his barely in control energy field, and all the other signs that Onslaught _still was not getting it,_ something told Scrapper that things were about to get even better.

“So how’s it all turning out?” he asked amicably. Then listened with amusement when Onslaught related the latest troubles with his team.

“Ah well you have to be firm with them sometimes, you see,” he said when Onslaught had finished lamenting the failed interface attempt. “You need to call a meeting and tell them straight – this is not just about sex, its about team union. You have to insist – show them you mean business!”

Onslaught muttered something. It was incoherent, but his energy field gave off a powerful flare. Scrapper shivered, grinning behind his mask, liking the effect this subject was evidently having as well as the reaction of his own thrumming relays. Oh what a turn on it was, getting Onslaught wound up!

“You need to choose a couple of them and send the others away,” Scrapper went on. “And lock the door so the two you’ve ordered to stay can’t escape.”

Onslaught’s walk became stiffer. “But I thought your team was more – cooperative,” he said.

“Oh they have their moments, believe me,” Scrapper chuckled, liking this even more. “I told you before – it hasn’t always been plain sailing. Sometimes there just has to be discipline. And more than a little - force.”

Onslaught made a throaty sounding noise. He coughed. “Yes well - I think that might be easier said than done. Have you ever tried restraining a shuttle whose half your size again and a military combat copter?”

Scrapper rather liked the thought of watching Onslaught try that – but he had to admit it was somewhat less simple than pinning Scavenger against a wall. But then – could not Bonecrusher be difficult in a bad mood? And Long Haul could be almost as stubborn as a minibot in a temper.

“You have to play it rough if necessary,” he said, careful to make his voice sound a shade huskier, a little courser. “Assert your authority – you know? I use chains if I have to.”

He sidled a little closer to Onslaught, “You have to well and truly activate the gestalt programming,” he said. “The – _togetherness._   I make it plain they’re not going anywhere till they’ve had my spike and connector in them so deep and I’ve given it to them so hard, that they can’t even remember who they are.”

Onslaught groaned. He staggered slightly, as his energy field looped out over Scrapper and zapped though him, making currents leap wildly between the Constructicon’ synapses as his valve reacted sharply with pleasure.

Scrapper grinned, delighted. “Of course, I do have Hook to help if my mechs get too difficult,” he went on wickedly. “He’s especially good with his own chain. I find if he stands in front of them and ties up their hands, then I can get behind and …”

But Scrapper didn’t get to finish. He found his legs suddenly swept from under him as he was thrown down on to the firm sand at the edge of the water where he landed with a _splat._

He reflected, as Onslaught pinned his hands, intakes rasping hotly, that it really was a very well executed combat maneuver....

 

As if the green mech sauntering along beside him, his intoxicating afterwash mingling with the infuriatingly aphrodisiac scents of the ocean had not been enough! Onslaught’s hands had itched with need to get at Scrapper’s panels, whilst his spike had taken up an agonized throbbing as it pressed against the cover.

With an effort however, he’d made up his mind to hold out till they got to the cave; and then was he going to let the Constructicon leader have it – oh yes, _was he going to get it…_

And then Scrapper had talked about...

A vision of tough, heavy frames, shovels and shafts and hooks in chained, compromising positions had bombarded Onslaught unmercifully. His spike had undergone the final stages of pressurization instantly; and he had not been able to stop it from sliding out as charge seared through him.

Now, he held Scrapper down, liking the fact that amid the amusement and desire in the crimson optics there was unmistakable admiration, and just the tiniest hint of fear.

Aggressive leadership programming asserted in Onslaught. His spike throbbed hugely as he ground it against the green frame. He wanted this – badly; had been dying for it – he realized - since the last time. He was going to get it; and not only that - teach the Constructicon leader that however good at digging up the ground Scrapper may be, certain things happened when you trifled with a military leader.

Scrapper struggled a little. Good. Onslaught intended to show him in no uncertain terms, who was the better mech. _Right now._ He tightened his grip, feeling his frame glow, powerful with the sure knowledge of superiority. But first he had a strong urge to see that face, to devour that inviting mouth.

He let one of Scrapper’s hands go. “Take your mask off!” he rasped.

 

This was awesome – so different from anything Scrapper had with any of his team, or Grapple, or any of the other mechs on this planet that he periodically screwed from time to time. No this was a power game, the first round of which Scrapper was only too happy to let Onslaught win; before…

Oh yes, Onslaught wouldn’t be winning all day and all night, that was for sure. But for now, the wanton, unmasked face of the mech above him, his dark optics wild with lust was exquisite. The hot surging body against Scrapper cried out with the desperate need to fuck and be superior – and Scrapper had no intention of stopping him from doing just that.

Scrapper removed his mask, and his mouth was forced open straight away by Onslaught’s hungry one, the other mech’s glossa snaking to the back of Scrapper’s throat like a fiery dart as Onslaught’s energy field forcefully engulfed him.

Scrapper’s valve clenched as he configured it, eager and wet and the prospect of the huge appendage it was about to receive. He kissed Onslaught back with equal force, struggling again when the Combaticon leader asserted his grip, loving the swathe of aggressive energy that poured over him.

He felt the solidness of the military chest armour, the power in the hot body that pulsed hard on his, the strength in the hands that near crushed his own. Scrapper lapped it all up, relishing most of all the feel of Onslaught’s spike pulsing hard against his frame.

Onslaught squirmed, growling. Then he was up and over Scrapper, his dark optics on fire with his the frenzied need to fuck, to dominate. He thrust his knee between Scrapper’s thighs and tried to shove them apart. Scrapper relished ripples of intense pleasure in his now aching valve as he deliberately clamped his legs shut.

“Open!” Onslaught snarled. With almost brutal force, he forced Scrapper apart. Then he drove straight in, hard and deep, grunting as the massive spike stretched Scrapper’s valve, penetrating far inside.  So intense was the effect that the Constructicon leader cried out with the speed at which he shot to the brink of overload.

It did not last long. Onslaught bucked once, twice, three times - spearing far into Scrapper’s interior, stirring nodes and activating sequences hitherto undiscovered. They flared into awakening with an overload so forceful that Scrapper screamed, squirming and pushing up against Onslaught as violent spasms engulfed him.

And as Onslaught bellowed loudly, spilling his fluids into his conquest, energy pouring from his frame, Scrapper’s leadership programming asserted strongly, informed him that he had submitted for now and that this was sound protocol…

But that that further ‘activity’ would firmly solidify his own Construction-mech superiority, establishing him as an equal.

 

Primus, the Constructicon felt good. Until that rapid, explosive climax, Onslaught hadn’t realized just how badly he’d wanted him, had been thinking about this – ever since he’d first felt the Constructicons’ lips around his spike.

And now he’d had him, felt his fluids rush into the handsome faced green frame pinned beneath him, showed the modest but nevertheless cocky leader who was in charge.

The overload had been spectacular; sparks still danced before his optics as the Constructicon’s body went limp beneath him. But immediately came the knowledge that the conquest was only half made, that the process was far form over as Scrapper chuckled into his cheek.

“Well there you are!” the Constructicon said. “That’s exactly how you need to be with your team. Take them like that, and they’ll never be able to resist you.”

That he could be so – _nonchalant…_ it should be darned annoying; but the afterglow was exquisite, the force of the energy release still reverberating through Onslaught’s armour, his struts, his inner workings. Onslaught offlined his optics, releasing Scrapper’s hands and then savouring the sensations as they stroked his panels in a soothing, very nice way.

They stayed like that; until gradually Onslaught became conscious of other things: the sounds of the ocean, and of water sloshing against his frame. Feeling it lap under his middle, he heaved up, onlining his optics.

To his surprise, Scrapper was practically submerged. Either the tide had come in fast, or that overload was as long and hard and drawn out as his systems were suggesting.

“Much as I enjoy the ocean,” Scrapper said, and am quite capable of functioning underwater, I prefer not to _frag_ underwater right now – though we can try it sometime if you like…”

Seagulls cried in the distance, muted by the sound of an engine, far above. It was enough to bring Onslaught to his senses, and he scrambled off Scrapper. Primus! Here he was, the leader of the Combaticons, spread out all over the leader of the Constructicons on a beach somewhere near the equator on Earth.

Hastily Onslaught scanned the skies, relieved when he spotted the contrails of a human passenger plane, too far above hopefully for primitive organic optics to make out what was going on below. But Sigma! What if it had been Seekers or – worse still, Blast Off returning with his passengers. The smirks on the faces on the tank and the copter barely bore thinking about.

“It’s all right,” Scrapper was grinning impishly up at him. “Didn’t sound like your team would be back in a hurry and Starscream and his wingmates won’t be fit to fly just yet. With any luck Swindle’s busy with Scavenger – oh yeah, meant to mention that….”

“All the same…” the Constructicon hauled himself up, “I think the cave is a slightly better idea. That way I can show you…” leaning forward he kissed Onslaught lightly on the lips, “what it’s like having my spike in you.”

Onslaught’s processor was a swirling combination of post overload haze and the beguiling mech on the beach with him. The thoughts blurred, mingling with this latest about Swindle - and the uncomfortable knowledge that Scrapper was not only very self controlled, but evidently knew more about activities among his own team than he did.

It all was superseded, however, by one thing – the need to do Scrapper again. Thoroughly, forcefully, and leaving no doubt this time as to who was in charge. And as for Scrapper doing him? They’d see about that – though the idea - surprisingly - was not unpleasant. No – Onslaught wasn’t ruling that out at all.

Without another word, Onslaught started off along the beach. Scrapper picked up his mask and put it back on; then he followed, smiling. Yes – a pleasurable and most interesting day this was turning out to be. There was a long way to go yet.


End file.
